


All Too Clear

by MyEvilTwin (ProtoNeoRomantic)



Series: Patch Works [25]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Kidnapping, Murder, Murderers, Radio, Radio Slang, Sibling Incest, What Doesn't Kill You Can Still Seriously Mess You Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-17 21:32:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1403176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProtoNeoRomantic/pseuds/MyEvilTwin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faith plans a surprise reunion with her father.  Who wants to take bets on whether that leads to hugs and puppies?</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Too Clear

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Who Do You Think You Are?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1235281) by [ProtoNeoRomantic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProtoNeoRomantic/pseuds/ProtoNeoRomantic). 



“A car might have been useful to you right about now,” Dr. Ericson opined coolly, impressing himself with his bluff of not giving a shit.

“I have one,” his masked captor informed him just a little crossly. “I’m not an idiot. Come on.” He followed her. There was no sense doing anything else.

“So,”  he asked as she pulled the dead bodies of what looked like a couple of middle aged commandos out of the front seats of a nearby van and dumped them like so many pounds of garbage on the garage floor, “what’s on our agenda for tonight?”

“I’m going to kill you,” she said matter-of-factly. “Get in.” again, Douglas complied.  She didn’t need his cooperation to complete her stated objective. She merely wanted it as an aid to satisfying whatever curiosity had kept him alive this long. For a moment he contemplated the idea that it might be sexual curiosity. He was a damned sexy SOB if he did say so himself, and the white coat did it for a lot of girls, though admittedly, mostly the kind of girls who thought keeping people alive was good and important.

Physically, this girl was hot as hell, at least from the neck down. But Douglas couldn’t quite stomach the idea of having sex with his own murderer, or anybody else’s for that matter. He noted the presence of three bodies in the cargo area behind their seats, which made seven to her credit tonight.  Which tended to suggest that he might not have a lot of choice about satisfying her curiosity, whatever it was, as long as not dying remained his top priority. Douglas felt suddenly agitated and uncomfortable in his own skin. It had been a very long time since he’d considered that he might be in any real danger of being raped.

If push came to shove, he decided, he'd probably have to change his priorities soon. Soon, but not yet. Hell, for all he knew she might be the emissary of some bizarre underground warlord who just really happened to need a good Oncologist. ‘If you want to know something,’ his ex-wife had always said, ‘for God’s sake just ask!’

“So, why do I get the short straw?” he demanded, sounding a little angrier than he meant to and a lot less scared than he felt.

“The wages of sin,” said the masked killer sardonically.

“In that case,” said the doctor dryly, “I recommend napalm. Or nerve gas if you can get it. This seems a little more focused than that.”

“You screwed my mother,” the girl clarified, “just about nine months before I was born.” Oh. Damn. Of course. It had to be that. Because nothing in Doug's life could be just _about_ as bad a humanly possible.  It had to be _exactly_ that bad. On the plus side, rape was seeming pretty unlikely.  The girl exhaled impatiently.  Too many seconds had passed without a snappy response to her killer line.

“Believe me,” Douglas said, still managing to sound impressively indifferent, “I am kicking myself.” 

“I bet I can kick harder,” the kid rejoined with viscous cheerfulness. 

“So I take it you’re not enjoying the being alive all that much then?” Doug replied, keeping up the routine, bantering for time while his mind raced over the impossible possibilities. No real prospects in high school. Freshman year at UCLA?

“It is what it is,” his captor was saying with genuine sounding indifference. It had to be freshman year. 

It was his turn. “Some of my patients are pretty fond of it,” he said, “if that means anything to you.” September 1982 to May 1983. Douglas had a lot of sperm unaccounted for in that time period. 

Suddenly, Doug's denial broke like a used condom. He didn't even hear the witty response to his last remark. This girl was not fourteen years old. She was sixteen if she was a day. And she was from Boston. He could hear it in her voice. It wasn't funny anymore. Not even in a macabre, ironic way. 

“Jesus Christ, Faithy,” he said, “I’m sorry.”

Faith laughed out loud inside her leather hood and slapped him on the back almost affectionately though it was hard enough to knock the wind out of him. “That’s a good one, Uncle Doug” she said, “tell me another.” They were leaving the city streets behind, driving deeper into the desert. In search of a crime scene, Doug realised, some place that wouldn't be disturbed.

The situation was too surreal. He tried to imagine the headline in tomorrow’s paper. ‘Local Oncologist Kidnapped/Murdered by Masked, Psychotic, Superhuman, Incestuous Lovechild.’ After all of these years, he wondered how his sister would take the news of his death. Especially under the circumstances. Philosophically he supposed, with a shot of cold comfort, straight up. He guessed it had really been an act of willful ignorance to assume that any kid left in the care of his sister was growing up healthy and happy.

Suddenly, a new horror struck him. 

“Where’s Lennette?” Dr. Ericson asked in his firm, calm clinical voice, the one he’d been trained to use on mental patients. Faith laughed again. It was not a nice laugh. It reminded Doug unpleasantly of his father. “Where are we going?” he demanded. More unpleasant laughter. Panic vied with rage for the honor of overwhelming his better judgment. “Would you can the fucking laugh track!” he demanded. “I mean, what the fuck is your diagnosis!?!”

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Faith asked, still smiling behind her mask. “There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m 5 by 5. Signals coming in loud and clear on all channels.”

“Oh, I see,” said Douglas sardonically. “And what do the signals tell you, Faithy?”

“That I am the instrument of God’s Divine Vengeance!” She slammed on the breaks in the middle of the road. “And that this is your destination.” Dr. Ericson literally didn’t know what hit him. Faith opened the door and pitched her next of kin onto the side of the desert highway. Over and Out.

**Author's Note:**

> This was how Doug's part was supposed to go, but I just liked him too darn much. I softened up the back story just a little for pretty much the same reason. But my evil twin would not be silenced.


End file.
